


Overtime

by leifmotifff



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifmotifff/pseuds/leifmotifff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written back in 2010 for the inception_kink meme, for this prompt: <em>Something where they’re leaning toward each other while they’re talking, with their heads bent down as they’re looking at something. Just that moment of closeness.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtime

Arthur is the last one at the warehouse today. 

Yusuf and Eames had finished their duties hours ago and Cobb had left just a little while earlier, like he always does. Arthur knows he does it so that he won’t find himself alone in the warehouse after everyone is gone, won’t be tempted to go under by himself.

Normally, Arthur doesn’t mind being the last one. It’s quieter without Eames and Yusuf around anyway, what with their ridiculous banter—impossible to get anything done. But it’s Friday, and for once, he has to admit that he’s simply burnt out. 

Cobb was wont to prescribe them a general nine-to-five schedule for a couple weeks as a time-frame to prepare for each job, but since they are each being paid a flat rate for the individual services they provide, it’s not like the number of hours Arthur actually spends at the warehouse is really relevant. 

Still, he’s been here longer than he technically ‘needs’ to be, and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s working overtime on a Friday night, which is the last thing he wants to be doing right now. All he has to do now is incorporate the last details to the design so that he can get the hell out of here for the weekend. 

Resolute, Arthur bends down over the spread of papers again and works on adding and removing and retouching certain features as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Hey, I need to see those maps again,” comes a voice from behind him a few minutes later, and Arthur practically jumps out of his skin. He whips his around to see Cobb behind him.

“Jesus Christ, Cobb,” Arthur says, running an aberrant hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. He had been so concentrated on his work quickly he hadn’t even heard the other man behind him. “I didn’t know you were still here.” 

“Yeah, sorry, I came back,” Cobb says absently, looking over Arthur’s shoulder and squinting at the blueprints of the dreamscape. “I just realized, I think I miscalculated something. Do you mind?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer though and ducks down to get a closer look. Arthur stills; Cobb is leaning over such that his face is right next to his, his head by Arthur’s shoulder as he brings a slightly calloused, tan hand up to trace an element of the landscape design with his finger, muttering some indistinct formula or algorithm under his breath. 

The familiar frown is creasing his forehead, and Arthur can practically see the gears turning in that brilliant, terrifying mind of his. Arthur tries to make out what Cobb is recalculating; he hadn’t noticed anything amiss with the dreamscape they’d decided on (which was of course based on the research he’d done on the mark’s past and daily life). 

But before he knows it, Arthur is no longer trying to hear exactly what aspect of the design Cobb is contemplating, instead focusing mindlessly on Cobb’s mouth, which he finds rather captivating, especially as every so often a pink tongue darts out, leaving it glistening just slightly.

Arthur feels a heat rising from his neck and he looks away, taking a long, quiet breath. He hadn’t realized he had been holding it. It’s probably just Cobb’s proximity behind him, Arthur reasons with himself—the other man’s body warmth seeping into Arthur’s shirt and the back of his neck.

Arthur ventures another glance in Cobb’s direction, and hearing only his heartbeat in his ears, he thinks it kind of looks like Cobb is whispering. Unfortunately, the next thing that comes to mind is memories of Cobb whispering sweet nothings to Mal back when they were together and happy and Arthur suddenly feels incredibly guilty. 

He should not, _not_ , be having these thoughts about Cobb—his _boss_ , for Christ’s sake. 

Should not be thinking about Cobb whispering in his ear, maybe wrapping an arm around Arthur from behind and reaching a hand into the collar of Arthur’s shirt, the first couple buttons having been undone after the long day, fingers stroking lightly at his collarbone. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about Cobb’s lips brushing softly against his jaw, or about arching his neck, so that Cobb could have better access to his throat, if he wanted it.

Shouldn’t think about turning just slightly to the right and pressing his mouth to Cobb’s right now—where it was so close—and kissing him hard, finding out once and for all if he could render the other man hot and flushed and breathless…

Arthur blinks, face warm, scandalized at his train of thought, and quickly clears his mind of the mental image. And it’s lucky he caught himself because suddenly Cobb is talking normally again, presumably about something important that Arthur should actually be paying attention to.

“—coordinates for City Hall are slightly off, which makes the underground path we designed leading to the vault unusable.”

Arthur hastily goes through all his internal knowledge of the map. “Well, uh, what about if we just cut through the park, under that little bridge? Eames can distract them long enough.”

“We could, in theory,” Cobb replies slowly, standing up straight again, “but I don’t want to risk it.” He brings his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying it briefly. 

“If for whatever reason the board meeting doesn’t go as planned, we need immediate access. Also, Eames said he’s been tailing Caldwell for about a week now, and apparently once in a while they go through the park. Not very often, but you never know.”

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek. He knows it will take them another hour to insert the new coordinates in relation to what they’ve already designed, but he also knows if he’d done his research they wouldn’t be having this problem. He mentally kicks himself before clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nods, looking up at his boss.

He’s surprised to find Cobb is looking down at him with something resembling a thoughtful, amused expression on his face. Arthur feels a panicked heat creeping up the back of his neck, suddenly illogically worried that Cobb could somehow tell his mind had been elsewhere than on the mark’s usual route to the financial advising firm.

“What?” he asks sharply, a little defensively.

But Cobb just gives him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry; I know I’m being difficult,” he says, and there’s a hint of fondness in his voice that makes Arthur’s chest tight. “I just want this to go as smoothly as possible. Especially since Eames sometimes likes to be spontaneous while undercover, and that always sets us back a few minutes.”

Arthur shrugs, puts his game face on: becomes the very practiced image of professional nonchalance. “I don’t mind. Not like I have anywhere to be later, anyway.”

Cobb gives him an appraising stare, tiny smile still playing on those lips. Arthur fiddles with his pen, clenching and unclenching his fingers around it.

“Alright,” Cobb finally says, quietly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Arthur says, voice somewhat constricted, before turning back to the blueprints. Cobb leans over again slightly to grab some documents from the table, and Arthur can’t help but notice for the millionth time that Cobb smells faintly of the saline scent of soap and sweat and something that reminds him of the ocean and god, Arthur _hates_ himself.

But then Cobb takes a seat next to him, like nothing’s out of the ordinary at all, which Arthur guesses it isn’t, and they work together efficiently and good-naturedly for the next forty-five minutes, Cobb recounting a story to him about Eames and Yusuf making asses of themselves at dinner yesterday, competing in trying to get a gorgeous older woman’s attention while her husband was in the bathroom. 

By the time they’re done, Arthur’s in a better mood than he has been all day—though he doesn’t want to admit to himself that it’s simply from being alone with Cobb, which sounds ridiculously girly and juvenile. 

But Cobb is smiling at him, blue eyes twinkling. Insists on buying him a drink at the pub around the corner, and Arthur can’t say no. Why would he?

As they lock up the warehouse on the way out, Cobb squeezing his arm briefly in a rare sign of affection, Arthur thinks maybe working overtime has its advantages.


End file.
